


Spread Your Wings

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Wing Grooming, Wings, post armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Demons don't talk about wings. Angels stopped talking about wings. Wings still need to be groomed and taken care of.





	Spread Your Wings

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to [meinposhbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard) for beta'ing and helping with this story, especially as this was my first time writing explicit smut.
> 
> (Low-key proud that it's a round 4,000 words, not gonna lie)

Walking in on an Angel grooming their wings was an intrusion into their intimate life. It didn’t use to be. Angels used to help each other, groom each other’s wings, take care of one another. Whether God had wanted it or not, some very human quality had rubbed off on Angels. Or maybe it had been the Fall and the taboo that had followed. How no-one talked about them, how they _couldn’t_ talk about them. Wings were a statement. Some had chosen to turn their wings red to show their anger, or other bright colours to clash even more with the pure whiteness of Angels’ wings, others had let their wings decay into something that was not celestial anymore.

And with that, wings had become something Angels did not talk about.

Demons did not talk about them either. No matter who they were, all those Fallen Angels had suffered, during the Fall. Some had toughened after it, some had broken, some had wanted revenge. Wings represented that. Hell didn’t see many wings. Most Demons didn’t groom them, so it wasn’t as much as an intrusion as it was an impossible occurrence.

Of course, Hell and Heaven always had exceptions. Crowley had never really behaved like any other Angels, and he had never really done like any other Demons, had he?

Crowley’s wings grooming would turn the most cautious Angel livid. His black wings usually looked perfect and clean.

Using his power so strongly in order to prevent any form of Armageddon and stepping back into Heaven had, however, damaged his wings. He couldn’t quite put his fingers on the provenance of the ache until a couple of days after going to Heaven. It wasn’t like he spread his wings a lot.

He had been thinking back about Heaven. He had been thinking back about it ever since he had stepped in a place he had been cast out of more than 6000 years ago. He had tried not to think too much. Being with Aziraphale helped, as it always did, but at times he had zoned out, his mind instantly going to Heaven, or Heaven-related matters. And when Crowley was alone in his flat…

That was when everything bad happened. Mostly, that meant his own mind, his own thoughts, his own doubts, his own questions.

And as he thought about Heaven, as he thought about how unfair it all was, how fucked up the whole thing was, his back hurt.

He still couldn’t understand. Why had some Angels fallen? Why had some not? Gabriel looked even less sympathetic than Beelzebub, and yet he was barking orders up from above, demanding that Aziraphale _shut his mouth and die already_. It had hit Crowley hard. Not that Angels’ cruelty was new to him: if Fallen Angels were cruel, he had never doubted Angels could be just as cruel, if not more – Crowley still refused to think about Noah.

Cruelty so blatantly directed at someone, at _Aziraphale_, however, was something else. His angel had never done anything but follow God’s orders – more or less – and spread a message of love and blessings. He had been among humans for so many millennia, and the other Angels treated him like… like a replaceable puppet.

That was something that had bothered Crowley since the beginning. That was something he had questioned. Why were they created? Why were they created different? Why were they _treated_ differently? Falling had brought new questions to the ever-growing list. Why had _he _been different? Why did they have to fall? Why hadn’t God created them so they couldn’t fall? Were they all replaceable, that they fell by hundreds? What happened if all Angels fell?

Crowley liked to think that everyone mattered – except Nazis, those didn’t matter much, even less so since they had almost discorporated Aziraphale. Angels mattered. Demons mattered. Humans mattered. They were individuals, each was their own little being, with their own little ideas and thoughts and doubts and certitudes and feelings and stupidity and ingenuity. The acidity of Gabriel’s words had hit hard. If Angels treated an equal like this, how could they have the ability to treat humans differently? Why did God permit them to be humanity’s protectors, when they couldn’t even show compassion or empathy or love or care or mercy or consideration or respect? Aziraphale was an example of what angels should be like, and Heaven rejected him.

Crowley kept touching his back as the questions ate him up and kept creeping inside of him, until his wings spread without him controlling it. He tensed and winced as pain shot through his body. His human vessel was sweating and breathing hard, even though he didn’t need either.

He didn’t want to look at them, not for now, but he didn’t manage to fold them back and eventually opened his eyes. His wings were not hurt, but they were dirty and feathers were out of place or twisted in the wrong way. He stared at them for a long time, wishing he had never been created as an angel, wishing he had never fallen, but also wishing God had done things differently. He wished there were no Hell and no Heaven.

His wishes had never been heard.

When he eventually moved around, the first thing he did was to snap his top away. It was so very human, to care for his clothes, but he tried to ignore that. He was not human. He had wings. He had big, heavy wings. They weren’t supposed to be heavy, but they _felt_ heavy. They hurt while they usually didn’t, too.

Crowley had never defied both God’s plan and Satan in the same day before, so it might explain why he had never experienced such an ache.

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley froze.

Walking in on a Demon grooming their wings was an intrusion into their intimate life. If Crowley didn’t mind Aziraphale and him being intimate, this was not something he wanted to share. Angels and Demons never talked about their wings to each other – they never really talked to each other at all. It was something Crowley and Aziraphale had never done. Crowley had not even _seen_ the angel’s wings since Eden, except right before Satan had come, but it wasn’t like he’d had time to say something about it. He had never dared to bring the subject up. It just wasn’t something that was talked about.

“Oh, my dear, what happened—”

Aziraphale stopped again when Crowley closed his eyes and hung his head against his chest.

“I can… I can come back later,” he whispered.

Crowley could hear that he didn’t want to come back later. He very much wanted to stay there, with Crowley. It warmed his heart, without him being able to explain why.

Aziraphale waited. When Crowley said nothing, he slowly walked closer and knelt in front of Crowley. Crowley didn’t see any of it, but he heard and felt it. He was rather good at knowing where and what Aziraphale was doing.

“May I?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes, and very slowly nodded.

He sighed as soon as Aziraphale’s fingers grazed his cheeks, his human body relaxing under the expert touch. Aziraphale guided Crowley’s head to his shoulder and put his arms around him. Crowley let him do it, trusting him as his smell wrapped around him like a blanket.

He whimpered and clenched his jaw when Aziraphale touched his wings. He hadn’t been touched in such a long time. He hadn’t shown his wings to anyone in such a long time. He had never really shown his black wings to anyone at all.

Aziraphale took his time. His movements were full of love and caution. He was being so careful and so gentle, and Crowley silently cried against his shoulders as Aziraphale carefully took each feather and put it back where it belonged.

Crowley had always loved wings grooming. Beyond the fact that they looked good and felt even better, it had always been a pleasurable moment for him.

Having Aziraphale do it was something else. It felt way too overwhelming, way too good. He felt way too loved.

They didn’t say it. They didn’t need saying it. It was always there, always around them, it was in every word they said, in every gesture they made, in every dinner they had, in every look they exchanged, in every thought they had. They could both feel it, the waves of love emanating from the other. Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale’s waist as he worked on his wings, holding on to him and trying hard not to say it. Not to let it slip. They didn’t say it.

Aziraphale talked. He called him sweet names (_My poor boy. My dear._) and he talked to his feathers (_Oh, you beauty. What happened to you? I’ll take care of you. Now, now, that’s better. You look lovely. That’s it, go back here._) He talked about the weather, his books, his bookshop, Crowley. He talked about Crowley. He talked about Crowley a lot. (_You know, this demon’s not bad. He’s never been bad. He cares about children and about his car and The Queen. He cares about humans and he’s been around for so long. And I care about him, I try to take care of him. He says he doesn’t like being taken care of, but I know he lies about it…_)

Crowley listened and never interrupted. He trembled in his arms, not caring the slightest about his human body protesting at the position. He listened as Aziraphale’s words caressed his skin and his wings and he took in his hands travelling expertly along his feathers.

Whether it lasted hours or mere seconds, Crowley had no idea. The hands worked their miracle and he felt the pain subsiding until it disappeared entirely. He only felt the delicious pleasure of having someone take care of his wings until the fingers traced lines to his face and stopped there. He let Aziraphale move him around, reluctantly letting go of his waist. He kept his eyes close as Aziraphale gently massaged his face.

He opened them only when he felt lips brushing against the snake on his right cheek. He forgot how to breathe while at the same time desperately needed to breathe. Aziraphale pulled back a bit, still cupping his face, to look at him.

It was the next logical step. It had always been. It had been since Aziraphale had landed his eyes on Crowley’s wings, at least. Since Aziraphale had decided to stay and take care of Crowley’s wings for him.

It wasn’t just intimate to see a Demon’s wings. It was infinitely intimate to touch them, to run fingers through them, to talk to them. It was as intimate as a human kiss. It was as arousing as a human’s touch on a sensitive spot.

Crowley was the one to finally kiss Aziraphale. He had been given the choice and the time to stop it all, to stand up and fold his wings and put on a shirt and not talk about it. He didn’t want to. He wanted to kiss Aziraphale, he wanted to show him how human he felt towards him, how incredibly human his love was. Angels were creatures of love. Humans were so much more. Crowley didn’t want to love in only one way. He loved Aziraphale in so many ways, in such a complex but such a simple way.

He instantly moaned against Aziraphale’s lips when he returned the kiss. It was all so much, all too much, he was already hyper-sensitive because of the wings-grooming and because he had longed for it for so long.

They kissed to tell things they didn’t want to say, or couldn’t find the proper words to say. They kissed to tell the other just how much they loved, how much they cared, how long they had been waiting for it, how right it felt. They kissed to show the other that they wouldn’t leave, that they would always be together. They kissed for the 6000 years they had known each other for, and for the 6000 more years they wanted to spend with the other.

Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s clothes and he chose not to snap them away. He chose to undress him with his own hands. It felt even more intimate, always more intimate. More intimate than the grooming, more intimate than the kissing. Every new sensation felt more intimate than the previous one.

Aziraphale’s lips drew a pathway from Crowley’s own lips to his chest, kissing every inch of skin it found. He threw his head back and let go of an audible moan when Aziraphale’s tongue found his nipple.

There was less gentleness in his movements, after that. He tugged and pulled at the clothes, and sighed when Aziraphale was bare chest, running his hands all over him. He mirrored Aziraphale’s work on his chest, tracing with his fingers the same road the lips and tongue were taking down Crowley’s chest. They were discovering the other’s body, taking their time. The feeling of Aziraphale’s skin under Crowley’s fingers was enough to send him off the edge, if he so desired. He didn’t want it to end, though, so he kept on tracing lines with his long fingers. He could feel Aziraphale shivering under his touch, could feel his own breath shortening. It was almost overwhelming, to be touched and to touch after all this time yearning for something he was now allowed to do.

He lay back against the floor, dragging Aziraphale with him. His fingers found the white curls and he pulled Aziraphale’s head towards him, kissing him again, playing with his tongue as he pressed their bodies closer. Aziraphale’s hair felt soft and Crowley realised he had never really touched it before. He was still running his hands through it when they pulled back to sigh contentedly, pressing their foreheads together and opening their eyes to look at the other. To ask the other if this was okay, if they didn’t want to stop now. _It was okay, they didn’t want to stop._

Aziraphale’s lips trailed down his chest again, and Crowley arched his back as Aziraphale showered him under a promise of love each time his lips met his skin. It took him mere seconds to undo Crowley’s pants and push them down just enough to reach in and close his hand around Crowley’s cock.

Crowley moaned, rolling his head against the floor as waves of pleasure already shot through him. Aziraphale started slowly stroking up and down his length as his other hand sprawled near Crowley’s wing on the floor.

Crowley yelped when he soon felt Aziraphale’s mouth close around his cock, sucking and swallowing around him. His wings acted on their own, moving to surround Aziraphale as much as they could. _Keep going_, they said, and Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s body.

He leaned against his elbow and ran a full hand through Crowley’s feathers as he continued expertly rolling his tongue around Crowley. Crowley blindly reached for Aziraphale’s white curls, needing to touch him in some way. He could feel him around him, could smell him all over the room, could hear his groans, could feel his love and lust radiating off him and he could touch his hair, scrape his neck, moan, let his feelings talk. He could let Aziraphale know exactly how much Crowley loved him, and how strongly.

Aziraphale’s wings suddenly snapped out. The pleasure was too much as feathers brushed against feathers, and Crowley couldn’t even identify where he was being touched anymore. He tried warning Aziraphale, but he came as Aziraphale was taking him deep, his whole body tensing and arching. When Crowley couldn’t take it anymore, he blindly guided Aziraphale up, desperate to kiss him but unable to open his eyes as Aziraphale’s wings still brushed against his and his pleasure seemed to stay at a peak. He finally relaxed under the now familiar feeling of Aziraphale’s lips against his own, sighing. He could taste himself, instead of Aziraphale’s slightly cocoa-flavoured tongue, and he whimpered as they kissed.

“Fine?” Aziraphale asked against his mouth.

“Fine,” Crowley croaked.

He wanted to say more, but his speaking abilities had not fully returned yet. Telling Aziraphale that he was fine already took a lot from him. He was however more focused on Aziraphale as his own hands traced the lines of his body.

“Wait,” Aziraphale breathed out.

Crowley kissed his neck with blissful noises, his hands stopping on the too tight pants, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I…” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley smiled against his neck, taking a deep breath of his smell before sucking a patch of skin right under his ear. He played with his ear a bit, nipping and licking.

“I want to—erm…” Aziraphale said after a while, rubbing himself against Crowley’s hand, his cheeks flustered.

“I’ll need actual words, angel,” Crowley teased, even if he could feel something heavy forming in his stomach in anticipation. When Aziraphale didn’t answer but breathed into Crowley’s ear, he decided to help him.

Aziraphale didn’t need to talk. Crowley could feel his need, as if they were connected. They weren’t, not really, but Crowley had learnt to read Aziraphale’s needs and desires, even if at times he had ignored some signs. They didn’t have any barriers or restraints anymore, and Crowley couldn’t deny he felt Aziraphale’s feelings and thoughts.

With a thought – and a snap, for theatrical purposes – Crowley felt the softness of his bed replacing the hardness of the floor, and their clothes disappeared entirely.

Aziraphale was hard, so incredibly hard, as he tried to find release by rubbing his hips against Crowley's hand, even though he would rather come in a different way than this. He was past controlling his hips rolls.

Crowley grinned as he rolled them over, their wings bumping and entwining, sending shivers down their bodies. Crowley's fingers brushed over a couple of feathers, eliciting a long moan from Aziraphale, who wiggled under him, still trying to find a good angle for maximal friction. Crowley took his time to kiss his chest, kiss every patch of skin his lips found, as he held Aziraphale's hips down. Aziraphale tasted wonderful and the salty skin was pulsating under Crowley's lips. Aziraphale was a whimpering mess, his wings were out of control and kept circling Crowley or spreading as much as possible under Aziraphale's human body.

“Please…”

Crowley almost lost it when he heard Aziraphale beg. He felt himself hardening again and quickly found Aziraphale's hand scratching his back to guide it further down.

Time froze as Aziraphale tentatively entered Crowley with one finger, slick because Crowley had wanted it this way.

It felt so good, to finally feel Aziraphale inside him.

Crowley pushed against the finger until it was fully inside of him, and slowly pulled away, starting a regular rhythm to let Aziraphale know that it was okay. He didn't touch his cock or his wings, suspecting Aziraphale would come in less than a second otherwise. He wanted him fully inside, he wanted to feel him come inside of him.

When Aziraphale had prepped him enough, Crowley looked up to meet his eyes. He lost himself in the eyes which screamed that he loved him, trying to convey the same message without having to say it. This was not the ideal moment. They wanted to say it on another occasion, when both would feel calmer, when the urge to feel the other wouldn't be so bad, when they were less naked... This moment was for them to make love. They'd say the words later.

They didn't look away as Crowley guided Aziraphale inside of him. They both gasped and moaned when Aziraphale slowly slid inside of Crowley. They looked at each other as neither moved, waiting for the raw emotions to subside as they discovered this was the most vulnerable mindset they'd ever been in with someone. It was fine. They could be vulnerable with the other.

Crowley closed his eyes as he took in the fact that they were finally at this stage in their relationship. He had thought Aziraphale would never be ready, would never realise just how much he meant for Crowley or how long Crowley was ready to wait for him to come to peace with his own feelings. It felt almost too perfect to finally be together.

Then, Aziraphale's hips jerked, and Crowley's lips suddenly found Aziraphale's to muffle a satisfied cry as he was reminded of exactly where he was. They desperately kissed as they slowly moved against the other, figuring out together what felt good and what felt great. Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's neck, leaving a bruise or two as their pace increased.

Crowley's hands found their way to the white wings, brushing them with the same movements on both. Aziraphale lost any form of control he had, slamming inside Crowley as he closed a fist in the black wings. Crowley thought it would hurt. It didn't. It sent shivers all over his body and he straightened up in a long moan that tickled his throat.

Aziraphale's wings sheltered Crowley, as they had always done, and Crowley's caressed them with his own.

“Ngk—” Crowley managed to say, in an attempt to warn that he was close, so close. It didn’t resemble any word, though.

Aziraphale barely touched Crowley's cock for him to come a second time. Aziraphale followed suit and Crowley sighed and whimpered again as he felt Aziraphale filling him.

He collapsed on him, breathing hard as every single body part seemed to become hyper-sensitive, especially his wings still brushing Aziraphale's. He closed his eyes as Aziraphale held his hips up and guided them on the side so Crowley could lie next to him.

Both panted as their climax slowly died out. Crowley realised his wings were folded close to his back when he felt Aziraphale's comfortably wrapping them in a white cocoon. They stayed in the same position for a moment, Aziraphale kissing Crowley's forehead occasionally, and running his fingers up and down his arms and his back.

Crowley opened his eyes after a while, idly brushing the wing he could reach, carefully and slowly placing back the feathers he had misplaced without meaning to.

They lay in silence, breathing in the other’s smell, feeling the other’s love, and sloppily kissing each other’s mouth or forehead or neck or cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” Aziraphale eventually whispered against Crowley’s hair.

Crowley scoffed. “Quite the opposite, angel.” He drew invisible circles with his index on Aziraphale’s chest, where he didn’t even remember scratching him. “Did I?”

“Oh no. No, not all. No.”

Crowley chuckled against Aziraphale.

It had felt good. It had felt more than good. Crowley had needed that. He had been doubting yet again and being loved, being made love to, helped him settle in his certitude. He didn’t answer for Hell or Heaven anymore. They really were on their own side. _Together_.

No more going too fast, no more sides who wouldn’t appreciate, no more hesitation because the idea of them would be unholy or un-helly… No more fear.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, cupping his hand and smiling. Aziraphale smiled back, kissing him softly.

“I love you.”

The words naturally flowed out of Crowley’s mouth before he could even think about saying them. He didn’t need to think about it, he realised. They didn’t need a perfect occasion, they didn’t need the perfect evening out to word such a simple truth. It had never been about the right opportunity, it had always been about feeling right about it, about feeling that the other was okay with it.

“I love you too, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled back.

Crowley laughed nervously and buried his head in Aziraphale’s neck.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked, a pout in his voice. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Crowley sighed contentedly. “I’m just happy.”

_Happy_, Crowley thought. It sounded right.


End file.
